Eriador Road
by Holly of Hollin
Summary: Elrond plans a diversion to help the Fellowship on its way...
1. Chapter 1

**Eriador Road **

_A Tolkien fan fiction_

_Chapter 1_

It was almost full dark at the doors of the Last Homely House, and flurries of powdered ice – it was too cold to call them snow – swept around the tall figure standing there, watching the last of the Fellowship disappear into the gloom.

Elrond sighed and drew his robes tighter – the better to keep out the more persistent flurries. Of all the watchers, only he and one other remained: a shorter than usual elf, of broader than usual shoulders, with close-cropped, dark hair. He was clad in a scarlet jerkin, marked only with 'RIVENDELL SECURITY', in bold, Elvish characters.

"Will you be much longer, my Lord?" said the squat figure, shivering slightly, for his jerkin had but short sleeves.

"Only it's just that the Lady Callexica complains if there's a draft in her chambers, and we get extra guard duty outside."

Elrond roused himself from his sorrowful contemplation and surveyed his companion. This one was new, it came to him. His wisdom-filled eyes grew sharp, for the elf's skin showed signs of swarthiness, but closer examination revealed that it was merely his extensive collection of tattoos. He relaxed.

"The Lady Callexica would do well to spend more time contemplating the menace of the Dark Lord than she does the bottom of her _miruvor _flagon," he said, attempting a jocular tone that died in the attempt. After a short pause, he cleared his throat and continued. "But what is your name, servant? I have not seen you before."

The ranger shuffled his heavy boots and looked uncomfortable.

"Aarghh son of Unghh is my name, my Lord. You won't have seen me around much, I expect. I've only just come into the service."

"Oh yes," said Elrond vaguely. "I recall your father. Trolls, wasn't it?"

"Avalanche, my Lord," said Aargh. "What it was, you see, last spring he escorted Mr Bilbo to the mountains on a sketching trip. They'd just reached the high pass when Mr Bilbo decided to sing one of his songs. But, unfortunately, his voice triggered this avalanche.."

Aargh broke off for a second and looked out into the dark.

"Thousands of tons of rock and snow, they said. Luckily, though, my dad managed to push him out the way in time, just before he was carried away himself."

"I remember now," said Elrond. "Bilbo composed another song about the incident, didn't he? Jolly good tune if I recall. Anyway, splendid performance by your father, splendid. Glad to have you on board, Aarghh. Chip off the old block, eh?"

With that, he clapped the doorward on the shoulder and passed by him into the house. Aargh turned to follow, but at that moment, the heavy oaken doors were slammed in his squat face, making it slightly more squat. He heard the sound of keys turning and bolts slamming home from within.

"Oh well," said Aargh as he huddled in a corner of the porch. "At least I'm not off to certain death with that lot."

_Chapter 2_

Inside, the corridors of the Last Homely House seemed dark and mournful, despite the concealed dwarfish lighting system that Elrond had paid a fortune to have installed by Grimbly & Sons only last summer. He made a mental note to write to Mr Grimbly about the dimmer switch.

Most of the inhabitants had retired to their chambers or hidden corners, their thoughts slipping out into the darkness with the departing Fellowship. His shoulders bent with care, Elrond climbed the stairs to the upper landing. It was as deserted and dim as the hallway below – save for one door at the far end that was part-open. On its lintel was another lantern, cunning fashioned into letters that flickered first red, then blue and spelt out the legend: 'L'ORIENS'.

From the doorway flowed a cheerful yellow light and the sounds of two Elvish voices raised in song. Elrond paused on the threshold and knocked softly.

"Come in, love, and shut the door. There's an awful draft out there," said a cheerful voice.

Entering, Elrond saw his own face revealed to him in a large silver panel, burnished to a perfect sheen. Also reflected was the face of the elf sitting in a black chair – a chair whose back overflowed with the luxuriant golden locks of the Lord Glorfindel.

On either side were two identical chairs, facing identical mirrors. Running continuously below the mirrors was a stone counter, with three small basins scooped out of the rock.

Beside Glorfindel stood an extremely slender, white-haired elf, clad entirely in black. In one hand he carried a silver pair of exquisitely thin shears. In the other, he held what appeared to be a roll of leaves, smouldering at one end. The fragrant smoke filled the room and made Elrond start to cough.

"Oh it's you, Ellie," said Glorfindel, who was draped in a white coverlet, decorated with a few shorn wisps and locks. "Well, park your ageless bum, dear, and shut that door. Nivea, love, put that out. You know the Lord E can't abide pipeweed."

"This ain't pipeweed," said Nivea, and giggled.

"Well, of course it isn't pipeweed, but we're all friends here, aren't we, Els?" replied Glorfindel. He leaned towards his attendant: "Hang on, give us another toke, will you?"

The thin elf placed the non-burning end of the leaves in Glorfindel's mouth. For a moment, the tip glowed brightly before fresh clouds of the strange incense billowed from his mouth. He sighed in pleasure. Elrond sat on the furthest chair and folded his arms.

"I do wish you'd give that up, Glorfindel," he said. "You know it makes it harder for you to conceal your hidden power."

"Yes, well," said Glorfindel, finally extinguishing the tiny brand in a seashell brought for the purpose by Nivea. "Some of us find that more difficult than others. Now then, let's have a look."

Nivea held up a smaller oval of silver behind Glorfindel 's head, tilting it first left, then right.

"Well that's very nice, Nivea, very nice," he said approvingly. "I like what you've done at the back. You were right; those extensions were definitely a mistake. Still, it's coming along nicely - same time next week?"

"I've got you in my book, don't you worry," smirked Nivea as he bustled around, removing the coverlet from Glorfindel and adroitly dusting his shoulders with a sable brush.

"Three o'clock, every Wednesday, without fail, since the Second Age. Never missed an appointment, Lord Elrond. Never. I wish all my clients were that reliable."

"That will be all, Master L'Orien, you may leave us," interrupted Elrond brusquely, feeling his grasp of the situation begin to slip as the incense fumes took hold.

Nivea's thin eyebrows quivered and shot up into his fringe.

"Well I'm sure I don't mind being ordered out of my own salon, my Lord," he replied, his high voice rising still further. "Feel free, why don't you? In fact, make yourself at home."

He slammed the door shut behind him, then came back in to snatch his bag from the corner. His narrow shoulders were stiff with outrage.

"And the next time anybody wants a quick trim or their eyebrows threaded before battle, you can tell them I've gone on holiday to the blessed realm.. permanently!" The door slammed again, louder this time.

Elrond and Glorfindel looked at each other.

"Is he always this volatile?" said Elrond, carefully turning his chair to face his companion.

"He was firstborn like it," said Glorfindel. "They say he didn't give Feanor a minute's peace until he'd invented the hairdrier."

"Anyway," sighed Elrond, as he finally got to the point.

"The Fellowship has departed at last, for good or ill. They are on their own now, but my heart still burns for a way to ease their road. Have you given any thought to what we discussed?"

Glorfindel put his boots up on the counter.

"Yes, Ellie, I have. And I have to say, I don't like it one little bit."

"And yet we must at least attempt something like it," insisted Elrond. "The Dark Lord will be expecting us to send the Ring to the Havens. For as long as possible, we must make him believe we are doing just that."

There was a moment's silence. Elrond's gaze fell on the little pair of silver shears, lying on the counter. Their eyes met in the mirror.

"He doesn't do camping, you know," said Glorfindel, shaking his head.

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Eriador Road **

_A Tolkien fan fiction_

_Chapter 1_

It was almost full dark at the doors of the Last Homely House, and flurries of powdered ice – it was too cold to call them snow – swept around the tall figure standing there, watching the last of the Fellowship disappear into the gloom.

Elrond sighed and drew his robes tighter – the better to keep out the more persistent flurries. Of all the watchers, only he and one other remained: a shorter than usual elf, of broader than usual shoulders, with close-cropped, dark hair. He was clad in a scarlet jerkin, marked only with 'RIVENDELL SECURITY', in bold, Elvish characters.

"Will you be much longer, my Lord?" said the squat figure, shivering slightly, for his jerkin had but short sleeves.

"Only it's just that the Lady Callexica complains if there's a draft in her chambers, and we get extra guard duty outside."

Elrond roused himself from his sorrowful contemplation and surveyed his companion. This one was new, it came to him. His wisdom-filled eyes grew sharp, for the elf's skin showed signs of swarthiness, but closer examination revealed that it was merely his extensive collection of tattoos. He relaxed.

"The Lady Callexica would do well to spend more time contemplating the menace of the Dark Lord than she does the bottom of her _miruvor _flagon," he said, attempting a jocular tone that died in the attempt. After a short pause, he cleared his throat and continued. "But what is your name, servant? I have not seen you before."

The ranger shuffled his heavy boots and looked uncomfortable.

"Aarghh son of Unghh is my name, my Lord. You won't have seen me around much, I expect. I've only just come into the service."

"Oh yes," said Elrond vaguely. "I recall your father. Trolls, wasn't it?"

"Avalanche, my Lord," said Aargh. "What it was, you see, last spring he escorted Mr Bilbo to the mountains on a sketching trip. They'd just reached the high pass when Mr Bilbo decided to sing one of his songs. But, unfortunately, his voice triggered this avalanche.."

Aargh broke off for a second and looked out into the dark.

"Thousands of tons of rock and snow, they said. Luckily, though, my dad managed to push him out the way in time, just before he was carried away himself."

"I remember now," said Elrond. "Bilbo composed another song about the incident, didn't he? Jolly good tune if I recall. Anyway, splendid performance by your father, splendid. Glad to have you on board, Aarghh. Chip off the old block, eh?"

With that, he clapped the doorward on the shoulder and passed by him into the house. Aargh turned to follow, but at that moment, the heavy oaken doors were slammed in his squat face, making it slightly more squat. He heard the sound of keys turning and bolts slamming home from within.

"Oh well," said Aargh as he huddled in a corner of the porch. "At least I'm not off to certain death with that lot."

_Chapter 2_

Inside, the corridors of the Last Homely House seemed dark and mournful, despite the concealed dwarfish lighting system that Elrond had paid a fortune to have installed by Grimbly & Sons only last summer. He made a mental note to write to Mr Grimbly about the dimmer switch.

Most of the inhabitants had retired to their chambers or hidden corners, their thoughts slipping out into the darkness with the departing Fellowship. His shoulders bent with care, Elrond climbed the stairs to the upper landing. It was as deserted and dim as the hallway below – save for one door at the far end that was part-open. On its lintel was another lantern, cunning fashioned into letters that flickered first red, then blue and spelt out the legend: 'L'ORIENS'.

From the doorway flowed a cheerful yellow light and the sounds of two Elvish voices raised in song. Elrond paused on the threshold and knocked softly.

"Come in, love, and shut the door. There's an awful draft out there," said a cheerful voice.

Entering, Elrond saw his own face revealed to him in a large silver panel, burnished to a perfect sheen. Also reflected was the face of the elf sitting in a black chair – a chair whose back overflowed with the luxuriant golden locks of the Lord Glorfindel.

On either side were two identical chairs, facing identical mirrors. Running continuously below the mirrors was a stone counter, with three small basins scooped out of the rock.

Beside Glorfindel stood an extremely slender, white-haired elf, clad entirely in black. In one hand he carried a silver pair of exquisitely thin shears. In the other, he held what appeared to be a roll of leaves, smouldering at one end. The fragrant smoke filled the room and made Elrond start to cough.

"Oh it's you, Ellie," said Glorfindel, who was draped in a white coverlet, decorated with a few shorn wisps and locks. "Well, park your ageless bum, dear, and shut that door. Nivea, love, put that out. You know the Lord E can't abide pipeweed."

"This ain't pipeweed," said Nivea, and giggled.

"Well, of course it isn't pipeweed, but we're all friends here, aren't we, Els?" replied Glorfindel. He leaned towards his attendant: "Hang on, give us another toke, will you?"

The thin elf placed the non-burning end of the leaves in Glorfindel's mouth. For a moment, the tip glowed brightly before fresh clouds of the strange incense billowed from his mouth. He sighed in pleasure. Elrond sat on the furthest chair and folded his arms.

"I do wish you'd give that up, Glorfindel," he said. "You know it makes it harder for you to conceal your hidden power."

"Yes, well," said Glorfindel, finally extinguishing the tiny brand in a seashell brought for the purpose by Nivea. "Some of us find that more difficult than others. Now then, let's have a look."

Nivea held up a smaller oval of silver behind Glorfindel 's head, tilting it first left, then right.

"Well that's very nice, Nivea, very nice," he said approvingly. "I like what you've done at the back. You were right; those extensions were definitely a mistake. Still, it's coming along nicely - same time next week?"

"I've got you in my book, don't you worry," smirked Nivea as he bustled around, removing the coverlet from Glorfindel and adroitly dusting his shoulders with a sable brush.

"Three o'clock, every Wednesday, without fail, since the Second Age. Never missed an appointment, Lord Elrond. Never. I wish all my clients were that reliable."

"That will be all, Master L'Orien, you may leave us," interrupted Elrond brusquely, feeling his grasp of the situation begin to slip as the incense fumes took hold.

Nivea's thin eyebrows quivered and shot up into his fringe.

"Well I'm sure I don't mind being ordered out of my own salon, my Lord," he replied, his high voice rising still further. "Feel free, why don't you? In fact, make yourself at home."

He slammed the door shut behind him, then came back in to snatch his bag from the corner. His narrow shoulders were stiff with outrage.

"And the next time anybody wants a quick trim or their eyebrows threaded before battle, you can tell them I've gone on holiday to the blessed realm.. permanently!" The door slammed again, louder this time.

Elrond and Glorfindel looked at each other.

"Is he always this volatile?" said Elrond, carefully turning his chair to face his companion.

"He was firstborn like it," said Glorfindel. "They say he didn't give Feanor a minute's peace until he'd invented the hairdrier."

"Anyway," sighed Elrond, as he finally got to the point.

"The Fellowship has departed at last, for good or ill. They are on their own now, but my heart still burns for a way to ease their road. Have you given any thought to what we discussed?"

Glorfindel put his boots up on the counter.

"Yes, Ellie, I have. And I have to say, I don't like it one little bit."

"And yet we must at least attempt something like it," insisted Elrond. "The Dark Lord will be expecting us to send the Ring to the Havens. For as long as possible, we must make him believe we are doing just that."

There was a moment's silence. Elrond's gaze fell on the little pair of silver shears, lying on the counter. Their eyes met in the mirror.

"He doesn't do camping, you know," said Glorfindel, shaking his head.

_To be continued..._


End file.
